


Shades of Difference

by 67_coquette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Orientation Discovery, Orientation Exploration, Sam ships Destiel, Season Greight, Season gr8, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/67_coquette/pseuds/67_coquette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are shades of difference between who he was and who he's become.</p><p>A series of scenes taking place during the events of season eight exploring Dean's sexuality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Difference

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at trying to negotiate a situation in season gr8 where Destiel becomes canon. First fic for Supernatural. Marathon wrote it through Valentine's Day. Let me know if you have any tips on characterization - parts of it still don't feel polished to me, and I'd like to eventually clean it up a little bit more and would take those comments into consideration. Thanks! Enjoy! -K.

There are shades of difference between who he was and who he's become.

The first woman since Purgatory is not Dean's M.O. She's dark-haired, sporting a thick pixie cut. Her eyes are stone-grey, and she's more his age. He'd been watching her across the bar, even at the expense of the twenty-something blonde who'd given him her perkiest grin and said, "Yes."

"Yes?" He looked her up and down and cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm answering your question. Yes, you can buy me a drink." It had been a long time since he'd turned down prime action like this. She was hot, in the college sorority girl kind of way, and looked easy and uncomplicated... He fell into the practiced and almost scripted flirtation he'd been perfecting all his life.  
"Yeah? What do you drink?" But he was looking past her - to the dark haired woman in the corner.  
"Vodka tonic."

"Hey, did you hear me?" She practically whined, touching his arm. The brunette had turned her slate eyes on Dean. He shook his head.

"You know what, cupcake, on second hand, you look a little young to be drinking." He got up, her hand sliding gently off of his jacket sleeve, and he could almost feel her disappointed pout.  
He slid next to the brunette at the bar. She'd been watching him approach with half-lidded eyes - she already had a cople of shots in her. "What, you think just 'cause I looked at you across the room for five seconds I want to have a conversation with you?" The words were harsh but she was smiling.

"Well, we don't have to talk. If you don't want." He looked away before he met her eyes again. She laughed out loud and leaned over to kiss him, and just as he expected it, took a swig of her beer instead. She turned around and walked towards a table, and Dean followed suit, impressed.

She was tough in a way that reminded him of Pamela Barnes, but the memory of his dead friend - one who was killed because of him - had a way of killing his mood a bit. When this girl, whose name was Allison, asked him if he was okay, he tried to shake it off. "Yeah, just thinking a bit."  
"Well, this is the cure-all for thinking too much." When she held up her drink with a chuckle, he spotted the tan around her finger, lighter where a wedding band would be.

She rolled her eyes,. "What, don't tell me you're the moral type? If you have to know, my divorce was finalized today. So, I'm a free woman. In all senses of the word." Dean looked at her for a moment before nodding sliding his eyes to his drink.  
"Hey, I can't really judge anybody anyway. You just, uh. Reminded me of someone for a minute, that's all."

"Someone good?" Her eyes shone in the warm wet light, the gaze vibrant and hot, like a tongue between your neck and shoulder. It made him long for it to fall on him heavy, to own that bright gaze completely.

"Someone gone," he answered. Then he shook his head. "Listen, I'm sorry, maybe this isn't the best -"  
She shut him up with a kiss. "I know I can take your mind off of it."  
It felt good, electrifying; such gentleness in her kiss alien after the year he spent in complete chaos and violence. The patterns of behavior were still waiting, sleeping just underneath his skin. Suddenly his hands were in her hair, pulling her too him, all his strength focused and controlled.

She smiled against his lips. "Good boy."

*_* 

The sex was rehearsed. Lying beside one another after, they talked of meaningless things before she fell asleep. She mentioned her regrets over her divorce as she began to sober up. "No offense, sugarplum. There's just someone I'd rather be with."  
"I know the feeling." But did he? He just wanted her to feel less alone. She moved in the darkness to kiss him one more time.  
The first woman since Purgatory, Allison, would also be the last.

 

*_*

The first time he'd seen Cas since he'd gotten back from Purgatory had felt like old times. Once the guy got the scruff off of his face, he looked like he hadn't aged a day since they'd started saving the world together. Felt comforting. With all this shit between him and Sam, the nightmares... It was a foothold, something he could grab onto. 

Sam cleared his throat. "You must be glad to see Cas back in action, huh?"

"Yeah." Dean seemed uncomfortable, shifting a bit. 

Sam raised his eyebrows. Dean put on his game face, but he noticed Sam noticing him and grimaced.

Why was it that he felt exposed? 

*_*

 

It was an average supply run, but Dean was driving a little farther for the pleasure of some peace of mind, and a chance of scene from the motel room. With the new bags of salt packed neatly in the trunk along with the rope, he figured it was time for breakfast.

After some hesitation, he decided the phone Cas. Since they left him at the nursing home Dean's felt uneasy. He spent so long trying to find the son of a bitch and then keep him alive back there, he still felt like Cas was a target that he had to keep tabs on.

"Dean."

"Hey, Cas. How's the old man holding up?"

"Fine." A pause. "He's been having pleasant thoughts lately; pleasant dreams. I'll stay a little longer to be sure, but I think it's safe to say he's been neutralized." 

"Neutralized. Yeah, great." Just talking to Cas helped - it lifted a weight off of Dean's shoulders, just like seeing Sam after all that time and finding out he was alive and safe.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just wanted to know everything is alright. I'm not used to it. Keep waiting for the shit to hit the fan again, you know?"

"Yes." Cas paused again, longer. "I can come sooner if you-"

"No, no, it's okay. Look after the old guy." He coughed. " Listen, I gotta go anyway, so, uh, Stay safe out there, alright?" without waiting for a response, he hung up. 

Fuck it. He pulled into the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru, picked up breakfast, and turned the car back around, heading for Sam.

*_*

Charlie adjusted her leather bracers while Dean tried to negotiate his own outfit. She could tell, even in the way that he wasn't talking about it, that he was dealing with crap of his own. All he wanted to tell her about was Sam, though, so she listened. She told him about how she'd adjusted - a mostly happy experience, except for the recent deaths. 

She mentioned off-hand that he might've been going through his own break-up, but Dean shook his head. She wasn't buying it. 

"Projection much..." She said, her tone musical as she adjusted the barette in her hair.

"What? No, really. I mean. I've lost a lot of people in the past two years...It just never gets easier, you know."

He took a moment to reflect and grew quiet. All that trouble to get to Cas, and where was he now? The fear of losing him again felt too real. And the guilt from leaving Benny to white-knuckle it, and not knowing how to deal with giving up the only person who'd never once let him down... that was hard. That was more like a break-up.

Not to mention how strange the world seemed without Bobby in it. 

"Hey. You're dealing, right?" Her hand was on his shoulder. The first thing he did was tense and his fingers flexed automatically, reaching for a machete that wasn't there, for a gun, anything. He exhaled. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm dealing." He gave her his shiniest smile and patted her hand with his own before standing up.

"Alright." She returned her own bright grin. "Let's go, dude." 

When they got out of the tent and she got to see his costume in the sunlight, another knight gave him the up and down. Charlie noticed and slapped his shoulder, doing the same. If he didn't know it was Charlie, he'd say it was flirtatious, the way she'd said, "lookin' knightly, Dean." 

He looked to his right and then back to Charlie in a half-roll of the eyes. 

*_*

The day after the Battle of Moondor hey were on the drive again. Tension had unwound significantly, as though a tight knot had been severed from a thick rope. Suddenly, there was breathing room, and for the first time after Purgatory it wasn't strange sitting beside Sam in the Impala. 

"Charlie's one hell of a girl, huh?" Dean was staring at the road, smiling. There's still some red on his face that he couldn't wash away totally, an aftermath of the battle. 

"Yeah, she is." 

"If she wasn't... you know... what would you think of her?"

Sam scoffed. "What, like romantically?"

Dean considered that. "Yeah."

He glanced over at Sam to see him adjusting in his seat, getting comfortable for the drive. "Well, she's great. Smart, funny, pretty...And still out of your league." 

"Yeah, she would be, huh." 

"You're not hoping to 'turn' her, right? Because -" 

Dean shoved Sam's shoulder lightly. "-don't be stupid. Doesn't work that way."

"Yeah. She couldn't even pretend to flirt with a guy without you. She'd be a terrible heterosexual." Sam took a moment, eyes closed as his shuffling stopped and he settled on a position leaning against the window. He rolled the conversation in his mind a bit before responding. He wanted to say the right thing. He had the feeling there was a reason Dean was mentioning all this, some underlying questions he wasn't quite naming. He continued tentatively. "But, you know. She's still... smart and funny and pretty. I don't even think about it, to be honest." 

He had a feeling Dean was looking for something from him. He opened his eyes and looked over at his brother, who didn't face him. "You?" 

He almost didn't think Dean was going to answer, but he did, voice dismissive but without barbs or thorns.

"Yeah, me neither" He admitted, and remained quiet the rest of the drive. Sam congratulated himself with a nap. 

*_*

After Allison, Dean didn't feel anything. Didn't feel a surge of accomplishment, or joy, or the need to brag about it to Sam. He wasn't the same man before Hell, no matter how much he tried to be, and Purgatory had only widened the gap. He was harder, sharper, his soldier upbringing solidified in the sharp lines of his knuckles... the way they stood out as he gripped a machete, and in the hard angles of his clenched jaw.

It would get easier with time. He assured himself it was just that he was off of his game - but the desire, the flirting, had become easier and more fulfilling than the actual sex. As the days went on and he began to cleanse the evil of that place from his veins, he began to talk to girls again. He talked girls up at front desks, at police headquarters, wherever the case seemed to take them. He just didn't want to take them home.

He felt strange and guilty, like he was weak for letting Purgatory take from him what even Hell could not. His game. His fucking game wasn't just off, it was gone. But something remained, some empty desire, that reached out and pulled. He didn't know what it wanted; he assumed domesticity, Lisa and Ben, unconditional support. He gritted his teeth and tried to let it go, angry at himself for still wanting, angry at himself for not getting that it was a lie he would never be privileged enough to live. 

The way Sam had fit into the library back at the Batcave was something Dean never thought he'd get to see. Sam could have that fairy tale life - adjust his course, and get what he deserved. A long and happy life with somebody who loved him. Somebody who could heal Amelia, heal Jess, bring him to life after so many years of constant loss and death.

Dean decided that would be his own happy ending, too. He had something to protect again, something to look forward to. He could work on closing the gates of Hell and protecting Sam's chances of getting out. It's the least he owed him.

It was on his mind in the clear light of morning. He slammed the car door, gripped the steering wheel tight. Tried to count to ten, dig deep enough to find his resolve on reserve.

With Sammy still asleep in the motel, he drove off.

*_*

In Purgatory, he'd prayed to Cas every night. The horrors kept him up - things he imagined were happening to Cas in the meanwhile. Things that he might be vulnerable to if he fell asleep. Shivering in the rain, soaked with mud and the dried blood of nightmare creatures, he finds himself curled up against the bushes. A powerful longing would wake him if he drifted, edging his heart into an origami flame. 

'Cas. I need you. This is the hardest thing I've had to do. I'm so alone out here. Come on. I just need to know you're alive.'

Silence.

Somewhere along the way, he stopped expecting an answer, but that didn't mean he stopped. Every night, before he grabbed what little sleep he could, he prayed. 

*_*

"So. You had a... gay thing with the rabbi." Sam arched an eyebrow.

"He said we had a, uh, moment." Dean took a swig of his beer. 

"Huh." Sam was smiling. 

"Don't even say it, Sam." A pause. Dean gave him a dirty look, assessing his brother. There was something about Sam's eyes he didn't like. "I swear to God, don't even say it."

Sam threw his hands up in surrender. "Say what, Dean? I wasn't gonna say anything." His smile had gotten wider. 

Dean rolled up the aluminum packaging from his burger, and tossed it at his brother. It didn't really annoy him, but he knew exactly what Sam was thinking. Something like: 'You've been having a lot of 'gay things' lately', and didn't Dean fuckin' know it.

 

*_*

Ellie had been beautiful, the kind of girl he was used to - rough around the edges with a soft center. Her heart was kind. She wanted him, but he could barely look at her. Worse than that, until he'd stopped to rethink the case, he'd barely noticed that he'd barely noticed. He had been surprised when she came on to him on all three accounts. First, coolly, while he was manning the grill - she left him with an offhand flirtation about meat. He slid his eyes over to watch her leave, and then felt embarrassed. Appreciative - it made him feel good to be complimented, naturally - but something in him turned away. He shrugged it off. Refocused.

He couldn't do that later on when she put him on the spot, blatantly asking him to have sex with her. And maybe he should've recognized the last night on earth speech. He'd given it enough times, after all. He was distracted, though. And later on, he tried to tell himself it was the hunt, tried to ignore what she must've thought of him. Why she was embarrassed when he couldn't answer. The awkward attempts to reconcile it with a smile and a rain check promise.  
But no matter how he'd tried to bury it, when she'd kissed him again in her room, he felt nothing. He moved past her. He finished the job and let her go. 

Why hadn't he known what to do, what to say? 

 

*_*

On the side of the Impala, and he saw scratches, marks... All of which made him cringe. He began to move towards it slowly, murmuring "son of a bitch" as he got real close. The smudges were coal colored against the metal, as though they'd been burned black right into the body. It took him five minutes to figure out the shape. It had finally clicked as he was backing up, shining a flashlight on the passenger side door.

"Son of a bitch." This time, it was louder. He ran a hand along his jaw, thumb and forefinger to each cheekbone in the habit he'd formed for worry. There are wings on his car. Angel wings. Samandriel - Alfie - had died here.  
The reminder is both stark and painful. He'd been trying to outrun the worry. Alfie had been a good little angel, willing to help them find Cas. When Dean had finally gotten his angel back, he'd lost him, and now Cas was somewhere else and fucked up, and he wasn't answering. Dean hadn't seen him since that night. And he can't stop it from coming out - he's praying and the sun is just coming up. He didn't used to wake up so early - living without clock time will do that to you, boil you down to biology and wake you with the light.

'Damn it, Cas, you're worrying me. Us. Just let ... Give me something.'

"Fuck." 

'Please.'

*_*

He kept expecting for Cas to appear behind him in the bathroom or at the end of his bed. Something was wrong. He couldn't figure it out. Dean had the distinct feeling that his friend was telling the truth - that no lies lay between them this time after they'd cleared the air and guilt over Purgatory. Still, Dean couldn't shake the feeling he was being manipulated, that Cas was compromised. Especially if he couldn't remember escaping Purgatory, when Dean couldn't seem to forget. 

The thought kept him up at night. They talked about it briefly. Sam still hadn't heard anything, and Cas still wasn't answering. Dean was sitting with a cup of coffee in the Batcave's main room while Sam read at the table. He knew Dean had been worrying all day - first about Kevin, and then they'd talked a little bit about Cas, and since then Dean hadn't been saying much - just re-organizing the trunk, or cleaning the guns. This was the first time he'd sat down all day.

Finally, Sam closed the book and looked over at him meaningfully. He cleared his throat, and Dean took that as a sign to put on his game face, tired as it was. 

"Hey. I know it's been rough for us lately, but I got you something." He reached into his bag and produced a photo frame. 

"Well. This is, uh. This is really great, Sam. Thanks." 

It was the photo Dean had kept in his wallet all this time, of Mary when she was younger, in a small frame. Even though he'd had it for so long and gotten so used to it, he found that looking at it now, it seemed new again.  
There was a lump in his throat.

"Really. That's great. Thanks." Sam was studying him, like he always did, ever since they were kids. Dean shrugged a bit and slid his eyes over before standing up dramatically. "Alright. Let's get this over with."

"Really? No, 'I don't do chick flick moments'?" Sam smirked. 

Dean just rolled his eyes and hugged his pain in the ass kid brother.

*_*

Sam had gone to bed, and Dean decided to call it an early night, too. He took a moment to take in the room, close the door. Then, he set the framed photo on the table. He spent a long time looking at it. For the first time in years, he knew where he was bedding down. For the first time since he'd really seen his mother's face, he had a stationary place, somewhere safe to sleep. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Counted to ten. He got to six and figured he had it effectively under control.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress traded his button up for a t-shirt, swapped his jeans for sweatpants. Truth be told, he wasn't used to sleeping in pajamas - or underneath the covers, for that matter. He felt vulnerable and strange. Another alien moment where he didn't quite feel like himself. It was happening to him a lot lately. Purgatorial fire was a metaphor that he could finally fully understand - this concept of cleansing, where the social programming of the world was removed. An animalistic purity had emerged in it's place. It was difficult, trying to build some new identity within the constraints of a social framework he no longer understood.He struggled with what was second nature and what was learned, the year before and all through Purgatory.

He wanted to feel comfortable, and for the first time in a long time, he figured he might be able to do that. He had no reason to be afraid here. He slid between the sheets and tried not to let the heaviness of the comforter feel like a cage, like suffocation, like binds.

*_* 

It was a nightmare he was unfamiliar with, a montage of the crap on his mind. Nothing he wanted to focus on - maybe that's why the scenes flashed by him so quickly. Some where old wounds and nonsensical visitations to even older places. Others were more specific. They bloomed out of the vagueness and the resolution heightened until it was vivid, experienced in full.

Bobby and Sam were nowhere in sight and Dean was running, machete in hand. He was afraid, mostly about where his family was. How he could protect them. He thought of his mother and somehow felt she was in danger, too. Besides that, there was the immediate sense that he could trip any minute now, and whatever behind him would catch him.

The howling in the distance suggested hounds; the kind that scratched your stomach to ribbons and fed on your entrails. Not again. No, never again. He wouldn't fall.

The scenery shifted. The danger was gone. He was sweating cold and he didn't know if it was even his perspetive any more, or if something new was about to happen. He just had the distinct feeling was missing someone. It came almost out of nowhere and knocked him nearly breathless, as is the nature of dreamstuff.

He thought first of Benny. His chest ached, and he wasn't sure if it was his real, but the pain seemed it. 

Then, more suddenly, he felt Castiel's hands letting go. No. Not letting go. Pushing away. The black lake swallowed him whole in some perversion of his favorite dream, the calm pier, the fishing rods. All of them, washed away.

He didn't realize he was doing it, but he began praying in his sleep. It was habit - now a natural reaction when he found himself caught in the thought patterns of fear and uncertainty. Even if some part of him recognized where he was, he also knew that Castiel could hear him here. He was the only one who could. 

Elsewhere, outside, while Dean dug his fingernails into his palm hard enough to bleed, his signal was breaking through the crackling static of angel radio. Cas was able to hear it. There was a half chance he'd survive this escape, slipping away from Naomi and her watchers. 

He took it, having no idea where he'd land or how long he'd have. Slipping through dimensions on his way back to earth would buy him time, confuse his scent and trail and make him more difficult to find. He'd mask himself in the energies of other places and duck beneath the radar. 

The timing couldn't have been better. Without this, he would have been free falling. Few things were as frightening.

He turned in acutely until there was only one thing he could hear - it was Dean, echoing in his head, calling him on home.

*_*

Dean stirred the half-second before he heard the wings. Something in him knew what was coming. His green eyes opened, while he shot up in bed, instinctively grabbed the machete from the wall, his muscles tensed. 

"Dean." The voice was rough. "I got your message."

Dean almost didn't believe it's real for a moment. "Cas?" The angel was swaying in the center of the room, gaze fierce. Dean would know it anywhere - this is the face of purpose, complete and total. He puts the machete down and moves over to his friend. Some combination of Castiel's form and the dark still triggered memories of animalistic intent, and his movements were very deliberate, careful. He finds himself looking at the ground and to the window and ceiling as though something else was coming. 

"What in the hell happened to you?" Dean had sprung from bed, holding Castiel's shoulder to help steady him. Cas shoved his arm away defiantly, and moved ungracefully to sit on the bed. "Talk to me." 

Cas had been wearing a furrowed brow expression ever since he'd sat down. "I'm trying... to remember. I don't think I have much time. If I hadn't heard you praying -"

"Praying? I was sleeping. Nightmares."

"If I hadn't heard you praying," Cas continued staunchly, breathing labored, "I wouldn't have landed where I needed to land. Would've been dangerous, unstable. Not preferable." 

"Are you okay? Easy."

"Yes." He was still unstable on his feet. "But I can't remember who...Where are we?"

"Somewhere safe." Dean made sure that part of it was clear. Cas met his eyes seriously, clear and blue; he didn't look much older than when Dean had met him. It was as if they'd never gone through what they had - the Leviathan, Purgatory, none of it. This was a look of trust, of bond, same as it had always been. It was the same look that had gotten Castiel demoted in the ranks of Heaven, that explained why he'd traded in thousands of years of engrained loyalty to the Host for the friendship of a human he'd known for hardly a year. It was love, or something so much like it Dean could not tell the difference. It scared him, and he did not name it out loud. Did Sam see it?

"What did I say?" Dean asked, throat suddenly dry.

"In your prayers?" He nodded.

"What you always say. And a few things you don't always say...That you needed me to come. I felt your longing. It may have appeared aimless but as you focused your prayers to me, it grew concentrated. Easy to latch onto. Ah..." Cas sucked in air through his teeth, his right hand moving to his forehead.

"Hey. I got you." Dean placed a firm hand on Castiel's left arm, which was moving to rummage on the inside of the trenchcoat. He produced an angel blade, and Dean gripped him harder.

"Whoever is after me, it's not because of who I am," Cas snapped, bitter. "It's because of what I am."

"Don't do anything crazy, alright, we're gonna figure this out." Dean grunted it out, ghosting his hand over Castiel's and trying to grab the knife. Cas resisted, and even in his weakened state, he was much stronger than Dean - but nonetheless, Dean was the one who ended up with it. It fell from both of them, to the floor, leaving their hands on top of one another.

Dean flushed and hoped nothing strange had entered that dreaming prayer - no truth of the strange experiences he'd been having in negotiating identity, in sexuality, in peculiarity. Somehow, with Cas, it seemed most sensitive. There had always been an underlying attraction there - powerful, underneath the skin, spilling out in odd long glances on both parts. Even in Purgatory, the closeness of their bodies, back to back and side by side, had been easy and unscripted. But it hadn't been real. 

 

"I got you." He gripped it more deliberately. Castiel's gaze dropped to where Dean lay his hand over his own in solidarity. There was blood. This was the world now.The shades of difference were overlapping, some areas simpler and uncomplicated, and others - like the two of them, evolving in complexity.

"I think... I think I need to rest. Are you sure this is safe?"

"Fully warded. Off the map." 

"Thank you." He paused, lifting Dean's fingers delicately as he inspected the blood and the cuts on his palm. "You're bleeding."

"Don't worry about it," Dean murmured, "Just - take off your shoes and coat, okay? You should... sleep."  
He hated that it was his automatic reaction to think that angels didn't sleep, and that Castiel looked tired.

Between them hung something huge and unspoken, something that could survive all the planes of existence - Hell, Heaven, Purgatory - and still manage to braid them together. Still, their hands were overlayed - it seemed easier to touch Cas like this after Purgatory, and when Sam wasn't around. 

Cas shrugged off his coat, didn't even fight, and Dean let him toss it on the floor without comment. Then, Cas slumped sideways, willing to fall against the memory foam if only Dean hadn't caught him. "Hey. You're okay."

"I may be... more human than I thought after all of this. I may not need to carve it out of me after all." Castiel's voice was edged now with fatigue and bitterness. "Whatever's left with slowly be sapped from me. All my grace, gone. Like sand. I'll be useless."

All Dean could think of was 2014. God, what if they really were still headed there? Another nightmare he didn't want to face.

"Don't think about that," He snapped. "Lie down."

"They were torturing me. It wasn't bad, I don't think," Cas admitted quietly. "But I can't remember... who, or what they did..." 

Dean watched him carefully, moving so that he could direct Castiel to lie back on the bed. The angel's breathing was still heavy as he eased him down, but he seemed to be catching it, now. 

"... Just need to stay here. Not for long."

"You're not going anywhere," Dean said sternly. 

"Like hell I'm not," Cas growled. Where did he learn to talk like that? It takes Dean a moment to realize he probably learned it from him. "Whatever they want, it's too dangerous. I won't let you and Sam be collateral damage for my mistakes again. I won-"

Dean pinned Castiel's arms above his head in a swift, violent movement. 

"I get it that you're angry, I do, but that doesn't mean you get to make my decisions for me, you got that?"

And that look, slow burning and angry, was one Dean wouldn't have wanted to recognize before Purgatory. It was that coiled snake kind of rage that drove Castiel to beat him bloody in an alley. Now, the tables were turned. Dean was above him, snarling. It didn't scare him anymore.

"We -" He caught himself. "Look, I can't lose you again. Do you hear me?"

"I don't think you realize the things I hear, Dean. Are you aware the way that you pray in your sleep?" His voice was so deep and close to something primal, a low purr. 

Cas shoved against Dean, freeing his own hands, and tried to prop himself up. Dean knocked him back down and went in for the kiss, biting at Castiel's bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. It's animalistic, electrifying, his finger through the angel's dark curls, pulling at them.

When Cas pulled away, he gripped Dean's shoulders hard, forcing the distance between them so he could speak. There was something dazed in his eyes. "Listen to me, Dean. I don't want to get you killed. I won't be able to bring you back next time. You, or Sam."

"Oh, shut up," Dean snapped, grabbing him. Across his back beneath the shirt, one hand above cupping his neck, he pulled Cas close. Cas allowed himself to be pulled, his own hot breath collecting between Dean's shoulder and neck. He took the moment to close his eyes tightly and breathe deeply. "I mean it, don't you dare go anywhere."

Cas reached up to touch Dean's hair. After a moment, he rolled over, looking at Dean from his side. Dean was still anxious, his jaw clenched behind closed mouth. Cas was used to this look - he'd held it often in Purgatory, mostly when he worried about Sam... and perhaps when he worried about Cas, too, searching with Benny. 

There were no 'I love you's or confessions of affection; just the silence between them. The concern. 

"Dean -"

"- Just, don't, Cas." He seemed bitter, angry at himself, perhaps. Cas furrowed his brows.

This whole situation was fucked up. So many issues were at play here, in complexity - he couldn't even get this to align.  
"You were worried." Cas says it matter-of-factly.

"Damn right I was worried," Dean snaps, and then the floodgates open. "You couldn't answer me?"

"I couldn't," Cas answered, and Dean seemed to relax a little. "I need to make sure I wasn't followed. Tomorrow..."

"We'll deal with it tomorrow." Dean threw an arm over Castiel's neck, facing the ceiling, and wondered why this didn't feel as good at it should have. 

 

*_*

Sam was pouring coffee, the pot freshly brewed. One cup for himself and an empty cup left out for Dean, even if he didn't expect him to be up anytime soon. 

"Son of a bitch ran off," Dean yelled. Sam was surprised to see him fully dressed, pulling on his jacket. "Cas showed up last night."

"Cas? When? Was he okay?" 

"I don't know, middle of the night... He didn't look good, Sam. But we were right - someone had him, but it's like he couldn't remember. He said that someone was after him."

Sam looked at him seriously, moving over to hand him his own coffee mug. "Did you think... they were making him forget?"

Dean pushed his lips together tightly before he answered. "I don't know what to think."

Again, he could feel Sam looking at him, sizing him up. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"No, you're just... staring at me. Which is worse."

Sam rolled his shoulders in a shrug, walking back towards the table. He sat down. "What did he say?"

"He said he couldn't stay here for long, even though I told him the whole place was warded. He said if I hadn't..." Dean felt a little weird saying this out loud. "If I hadn't prayed, he wouldn't have found us. It was good timing. I'm guessing he saw a chance to escape and he took it. Whatever mess he's in, it's bad, Sam."

There was silence after that on both parts. Sam was staring hard at his coffee mug. Finally, he said, "So, he took off to protect us?"

"Yeah. That's what he said." Dean paused. "Wait, I never said -"

"The walls aren't as thick as you think." Sam couldn't look at him. "I thought I heard something, so, I -"

" - Oh. Well, that's just great." 

"I mean, I didn't hear much." Sam tapped his thumb nervously against the table. "I wasn't going to say anything."

Dean began heading for the door.

"Dean, wait! It's fine -"

"No, Sam, it's not fine." Dean drew a deep breath. "I just need some air, okay? Is that okay with you?"

Sam just nodded from the table, and Dean shook his head and left.

*_*

Outside, he leaned against the car and finished his coffee, beginning to go through the dozens of things they needed to do today. Check in with Kevin. Check in with Cas. Sit down and swap notes with Sam...

Even though he hovered briefly over Castiel's name in his phone, he couldn't bring himself to call.

'If you can hear this, Cas, I am pissed at you. I don't need this right now. So, either let us help, or... This is what family does for each other.'

All this stuff he was keeping inside was starting to give him a headache, and this storyline had been played before - the running, the self-sacrifice thing. Cas fit right in, making all the rookie Winchester mistakes, taking it all on his shoulders.

"I am not having this from you again." He ran his fingers through his hair, pressed the palm of his hand to his throbbing head, and tried to focus on untwisting the knots in his stomach. 

Maybe it was love, but love wasn't always enough. Their line of work had taught Dean that for sure. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just confusion cropping up. He had a million things to be worried about and his own crippling self-loathing to deal with. He had no extra energy to spend worrying about Cas, worrying about how much he needed him and how true that really was.

When Sam came outside, he didn't say anything. Just took up a spot beside Dean, like he always did. It was a while before anyone spoke.

"Kevin called. Says he's got news - the second tablet is almost done. Should be by the time we get down to reach him, if we leave soon."

"Sounds like a plan." And it's good to have a plan. What had Meg said about purpose? 'Give yourself over and it orders your life'. And right now, this was their purpose. God's little obstacle course...

"Alright, I'll grab my pack. Yours still in the car?" Dean began to walk away, but Sam put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Dean." 

"What, Sam?" He sounded annoyed, a hard edge to his voice.

"It.. really is fine. I mean. Ya know." He removed his hand quickly, wondered if he'd pushed it too far.

Dean just pulled his lips into a half-frown, half-pursed expression, and walked away.


End file.
